


A Lie by Omission

by Amberstarry



Series: House M.D. [1]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Confusion, Hurt, Love Confessions, M/M, Romantic Friendship, Uncertainty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 10:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amberstarry/pseuds/Amberstarry
Summary: Sometimes silence is the biggest lie.





	A Lie by Omission

**Author's Note:**

> I originally watched _House_ through in its entirety in 2016, and wrote the first half of this story, ironically, at around this time that year. Afterwards I completely forgot about it, and didn't find it again until a week ago when I was going through my documents. I was actually surprised when I found it because I hadn't thought about _House_ for so long I didn't expect to see a story based around it in my files. After I read through it I decided to re-watch House, and add to the story. Where it originally ended it could have stood as it's own self-contained narrative, but I felt a compulsion to keep going because while it had the potential to end, I felt like there was more to be said. 
> 
> The version you now see is the product of the story being extended to where I feel it has a more organic ending. I did not revise much of the original first half because I thought it worked well the way it was, so I hope that the divide between my writing then and now doesn't create too much of a disjunction in your reading experience. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Amber***

House walked into the room swinging his cane haphazardly, half-hoping to knock something over just for the inevitable reaction he’d get out of the next person to enter his office. As he reached his desk chair he swung his cane around to hang it on the rack behind him and hit his coffee mug, flinging it across the room and spilling instant special-blend all over the carpet. House looked down at the mess and put on a fake grimace. “Oops,” he said to no one in particular before settling down at his desk.

Three things had happened that morning which had made it a particularly interesting day.

Firstly, a woman had come into the hospital complaining of simple stomach pain. Cuddy had insisted that he take another case, preferably one with actual substance, but House knew there was a puzzle waiting to be solved in that stomachache. That and he’d be damned doing clinic hours because of a lack of interesting disease victims. Of course in the end he had been right and the pain turned out to be the result of a metastatic tumour growing inside one of her ovaries, which had taken House and his team the entire morning to diagnose and discover.

Secondly, Cuddy was wearing a rouge-red bra that positively popped out at anybody who so much as glanced any lower than her chin. Not necessarily important, but definitely noteworthy.

And thirdly, House hadn’t heard a peep out of Wilson since the day before. This was probably the strangest non-occurrence of the day, and also the most significant. House hadn’t had the time to barge into Wilson’s office like usual but that shouldn’t have made a difference. There hadn’t been any lurking up behind him while he was trying to hide from Cuddy, no impromptu visits to see how he was holding up - heck, he hadn’t even gotten a single text from the oncologist. Normally Wilson kept a constant vigilance over him, and while it was quite annoying and slightly creepy, House always found himself secretly endeared by Wilson’s eternal concern. That something was occupying Wilson’s mind so completely he forgot to check in with him must have meant that he was either dealing with something very bad, or that he had finally grown bored of House. Since he knew the latter was impossible as nobody could grow bored of the uncrackable enigma that he was, House decided the former was the cause. Wilson was having a crisis; now it was just a matter of finding out what exactly that crisis was and eliminating it so they could fall back into their normal routine.

As House contemplated what might have been screwing Wilson up, Chase appeared on the other side of the glass office door. He entered swiftly but stopped short when he spotted the coffee mug on the ground, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. “What happened here?” He asked, looking up at House suspiciously.

House smiled and shrugged. “Oh, you know how clumsy I am. I’d knock off my own head if it wasn’t firmly attached to my neck by muscle, sinew and skin!”

Chase glanced around to make sure he wasn’t being punked. “...Right.”

“So, what are you here to tell me?” House asked, directing the attention back onto what he knew Chase really wanted to discuss.

“Just wanted to let you know that Annabelle is stable. Her BP has improved and we’ve got her on a banana bag to bring her blood levels up,” he replied, stepping over the large coffee stain on the carpet.

House pursed his lips together and nodded. “Great. Now tell somebody who cares.”

“You should care,” Chase retorted in that wannabe-stern voice he always used when he was trying to be serious. “She’s your patient.”

“Correction. She was my patient until we solved the case. Now that she’s no longer a mystery she’s boring to me and so I have elected to delegate her care onto my employees, i.e _you_.” House sat back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. “So actually, she’s your patient, and caring about her on my part is completely unnecessary.”

Chase rolled his eyes and turned around, stepping back over the coffee stain and leaving the office.

“Love you too, sweetums!” House called out facetiously as the blonde disappeared from view.

House’s mind immediately went back to Wilson. He slid his eyes to the right and looked through the glass panelling at the wall that separated Wilson’s office from his conference room. If only he had x-ray vision so he could spy on Wilson without having to leave the comfort of his own desk. Alas, he didn’t, so it looked like he was going to have to walk there. Since he had just sat down however, House decided that he would watch the latest episode of his soap opera first.

*****

House switched off the television and threw the remote onto his desk. With effort he lifted himself out of his chair, wincing at the pain that shot up his leg as he did so. Sticking his hand into his jeans pocket he fished out his bottle of ibuprofen and shook two into his hand. He swallowed them quickly and replaced the bottle before reaching for his cane and exiting the office.

The door emblazoned with Wilson’s name and title was closed, but this didn’t stop House from gripping the handle and throwing it open. Or at least that’s what he tried to do. Instead he was met with resistance as the knob refused to budge. House struggled with it for a few seconds, rattling it around as if that was going to magically fix the problem before accepting that it wouldn’t and shouted at the door.

“Wilson! Open up!” He called, banging on the door for emphasis. He didn’t get a reply. That was strange, according to the copy of Wilson’s schedule that he had managed to procure earlier, the oncologist should have been in his office updating patient prescriptions at this time. House knew he was in there.

The diagnostician turned on his heel and walked back to his office, traversing his way through the conference room and onto the balcony outside. He walked over to the brick wall that separated his side of the balcony from Wilson’s and threw his cane over it. Following suit, he pulled himself up and over the wall. Unfortunately for him, as he flipped himself over to the other side his weight landed on his bad leg and it gave way, resulting in him tumbling to the ground in a crippled heap. If Wilson saw this, he didn’t come out and help. House slowly picked himself up off the ground, massaging his leg as he did so and grabbed his cane. He walked over to the sliding doors and pulled them open, entering Wilson’s office with an air of accomplishment.

Wilson sat at his desk, staring blankly at a piece of paper laid out before him with a completely defeated expression plastered over his face. He didn’t bother to look up to see who had broken into his office as he knew there was only one person crazy enough to do so. “What part of my ignoring you bashing on my office door translates into ‘jump over the fence and join me’?”

House threw himself onto Wilson’s couch and put his cane to the side. “I thought you were playing hard to get.”

The oncologist shook his head and went back to the piece of paper in front of him. “I’m trying to work here. Is there something you need?”

“No, but there is something I want,” House replied, watching as Wilson scribbled something onto the paper.

“And pre tell, what could be so important that it forced you to break into my office when I was so clearly trying to ignore you?” Wilson quipped, looking up again from his desk.

House concentrated his gaze on Wilson with an intensity that could only mean he was going to try and pry into his personal life. “I want to know what happened.”

“What happened with what?”

“Whatever it is that’s distracting you.”

Wilson put down his pen. “Again, from what?”

House picked up his cane and began playing with it. “You haven’t checked in on me today. You always check in on me because you have to be sure I’m not getting into trouble. The fact that you haven’t can only mean one thing: something is distracting you.”

“Seriously? That’s why you’re here?” Wilson rolled his eyes. “Yeah, maybe it’s the fact that I’m starting to loathe you more and more as each day goes by. Just because I’ve been busy doesn’t mean there’s been some gigantic crisis in my personal life that’s distracted me from monitoring your insanity.”

“Ah, so you admit there would have to be a crisis to distract you away from me.”

“House!”

“Okay, okay,” House let his cane slide through his hand and thump the floor. “There is something on your mind though.”

“Even if there was something on my mind it’s none of your business,” Wilson countered, completely unwilling to play any of House’s games.

“It’s pulling your focus away from me, that absolutely makes it my business!”

Wilson groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “House, I don’t know what you expect to get out of this exchange but I can assure you that you’re not going to end up with what you want.”

“You’ll come around eventually. Maybe on your own, maybe as the result of my persuasion. One way or another you’ll squawk like the timid little parrot that you are.” The diagnostician pulled himself up from the couch and walked over to the desk, bending down so his and Wilson’s faces had barely any space separating them. “Just you wait.”

“I can’t tell if you’re threatening me or flirting with me,” Wilson said sardonically.

House shot Wilson a smirk that made him think the diagnostician knew something he didn’t. “Why can’t it be both?” He asked nonchalantly, before limping his way to the door and finally leaving the oncologist to do his work in peace.

Wilson shook his head one more time for good measure and picked up his pen. He was certain nobody else had a relationship as twisted as they did, and yet somehow it was infinitely more validating having House around to annoy the living shit out of him than any normal relationship he’d maintained. How that worked he couldn’t say, maybe he was a masochist, but he’d decided his sanity had left him many years ago which might have been its own explanation.

He chose not to dwell on it and went back to writing up the morphine script in front of him.

*****

That night found Wilson and House sitting in their apartment watching old Baywatch episodes together. Unsurprisingly Wilson hadn’t been able to enjoy the plot thanks to House’s constant remarks about the lifeguards bodies - specifically their ‘rockin’ bazongas’ and he hadn’t been able to enjoy dinner either as the pizzas they had gotten delivered had been subpar at best. 

It was around eleven when Wilson decided it was finally time to hit the sack. “We should go to bed,” he informed House, switching off the television and beginning to turn off the lamps.

“Muuuuuum, just five more minutes!” House whined, clasping his hands over his chest pleadingly for dramatic effect.

Wilson picked up his glass and walked over to the sink. “I’m not engaging you,” he told House as he began to rinse the glass out in the dark - only now realising it had probably been a stupid idea to turn the lights off first.

House stood up and hobbled over to the kitchen bench, in the direction of the bedrooms. “Well that’s a relief since I never proposed to you. At least I don’t think I did - oh god, don’t tell me I’m sleep-proposing again!”

It took a lot of self-composure to live with House and right now Wilson was having to summon all of it in order to keep himself from making an obscene gesture at the man. He put what he hoped was a now clean glass on the dish rack and began to walk to his bedroom. “Goodnight House.”

Wilson got no more than a few steps past House when the diagnostician shot out a hand and caught Wilson’s arm before he could escape. “Just one thing before you go to bed. What’s been eating at you?” He asked, now completely serious.

“I already told you!” Wilson said, yanking his arm out of House’s grip. “I’m not hiding anything. I’m going to bed now. See you in the morning.” With that Wilson walked down the hall and disappeared into his bedroom, leaving a contemplative House in his wake to stare after him curiously.

*****

The next day was pretty standard for Wilson. He woke up and performed his usual morning routine, woke House up and headed off for work all before the aforementioned roommate had taken his first painkillers of the day.

It was a peaceful ride to the hospital and Wilson was actually happy to arrive at Princeton-Plainsboro to begin work. He spent his morning working through his assigned clinic hours which admittedly passed by pretty quickly. Once he had gotten through the last patient he was scheduled to see in the clinic he went up to his office and hung up his coat. He was about to pull out the sandwich he had packed for himself that morning when he remembered he’d told Cuddy he would have lunch with her. Grabbing his wallet he headed down to the cafeteria where he knew she would be waiting for him.

He found her sitting in one of the booths against the wall with a bottle of water and a small salad in front of her. She smiled when she saw him approaching and put down her fork. “I almost thought you had forgotten,” she remarked as Wilson sat down and put his sandwich (which he had brought with him from his office) on the table.

“No, I was just busy finishing up my paperwork in the clinic,” Wilson assured her with a smile.

Cuddy nodded and continued on her salad. “I’ve finally found a school for Rachel. I know it’s probably too early to be worrying about it but you know me, always wanting to be one step ahead just in case anything goes horribly wrong.”

Wilson chuckled as he unwrapped his sandwich. “You’ve spent way too much time around House. Your paranoia over him - which you have every right to have developed by the way - is rubbing off on every other aspect of your life.”

“I know,” Cuddy sighed, “But in this case I think it’s probably for the better. Nothing is more important than getting an education. It’s my duty to make sure Rachel has the best one she can get.”

“And she will. If I know you, you’ll stop at nothing to make sure that girl becomes the next leader of the free world.”

Cuddy looked up from her salad and smirked. “Damn straight.”

The two ate for a few moments in silence, content just being together. Cuddy and Wilson’s relationship was a world away from the one he shared with House, and even though his time with Cuddy was always more peaceful he knew that both were fulfilling ventures in their own way. Cuddy was his confidant, and the doler of advice (when the reverse wasn’t being applied). House was his playmate, the one he bantered and made mischief with. Wilson would never be able to have a nice quiet lunch like this with House, but then he’d never be able to get drunk and play videogames with Cuddy. Both were necessary in his life, and he hated that fact since life would be much easier if he could just dismiss House altogether.

Wilson was brought out of his contemplation by Cuddy asking him a question. “So, do you know what House is getting up to at the moment? I’d have checked up on him myself but I’ve been flat-out with paperwork these last few days and haven’t been able to find the time.”

The oncologist nodded exasperatedly. “So have I, and because I haven’t been mummying him as much as usual he’s got it in his head that something disastrous has happened and I’m keeping it from him. The ironic thing is that for once his theory is completely unsubstantiated - there’s absolutely nothing noteworthy happening in my life, I’ve just had a lot of work to do.”

Cuddy raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Wilson looked at her with the most unimpressed expression he could muster. “Don’t do that. I’m not lying, there isn’t a thing out of place in my life.”

Cuddy pointed her fork at the oncologist. “First of all, good for you. I’m happy you’re happy. Secondly, it sounds like he’s jealous.”

“He is! Of paperwork! That’s the ridiculous thing!” Wilson exclaimed, waving his hands in the air.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. “Well, tell him that then,” she suggested, shooting her friend with that look she always gave when she was tired of dealing with any problem related to House.

Even though Wilson could see that Cuddy wanted to shift topics, he continued on in spite of himself. “I have and he doesn’t believe me.”

The endocrinologist sighed and picked up her bottle of water. She was too old and too tired for this. “That’s nothing new,” she said, “Just keep reiterating it and eventually he’ll have to let it go.”

“We’re talking about _House_ here.”

“Do you want my advice or not?”

Wilson stopped talking and took a bite of his sandwich. He decided that now was probably a good time to change the subject, after all, putting Cuddy in a bad mood boded well for no one. He slowly worked on the chunk of food in his mouth and turned his head so he could look out the cafeteria windows. The sun was shining over the hospital grounds and many people were basking in its warmth, sitting outside on the grassy knolls that surrounded the cafeteria. He kept his eyes on one particular woman who was sitting by herself underneath the shade of a tree, reading. Waiting until he had no choice but to swallow his bite, he sheepishly turned back to Cuddy who was now stabbing at her salad with enough force to make him visibly flinch. He almost jumped when she looked up at him, her face weary and irritated. He felt like he had to say something to break the tension and put on one of his bashful smiles.

“...Nice weather we’re having, huh?”

Cuddy stabbed her salad.

*****

The lights were off and Wilson had his eyes closed. Usually this was House’s shtick - barricading himself in one of the empty clinic rooms and napping on the examination bed. Yet here Wilson was, slacking off in just the way he would be chastising House for on any other given day. The oncologist decided he’d give himself a free pass just this once however, as the reason he had locked himself in this room was because he had had a revelation, one that necessitated some alone time to fully process.

Sometime earlier after he had returned from his lunch with Cuddy, House had come into his office again, badgering him about the imaginary all-consuming disaster that had shook his life. Wilson had yet again told him no such disaster existed, and yet again House had stubbornly refused to accept that answer and stormed out the door loudly vowing to uncover whatever secret the oncologist was hiding from him.

That got Wilson wondering: why did House care so much anyway?

Even if there had been something that was keeping him from thinking about House, why did that bother the diagnostician so thoroughly he had to make it his current mission in life to seek and destroy it. Yes, House was virtually a twelve-year-old and it was just in his nature to be needy and selfish, but he was also smart enough to know that not everything revolved around him. Maybe he liked to act as if it did around everybody else, but he always let himself be more grounded with Wilson. That was how it usually was. So why the need to be attached at the hip? Why be so disturbed at the thought that Wilson could be thinking about something other than him? Why was it so important?

And then it had hit him, as he was in the middle of walking out of the elevator no less, which made him slow down and almost get crushed by the titanium doors. There was really only one logical reason somebody would be so obsessed with another person. And House _was_ obsessed with him.

It was because House was in love with him.

The door opened and light flooded into the room, causing Wilson to jolt back to reality and open his eyes, squinting into the fluorescent hue to see who had disturbed his peace.

“We need an oncological consult,” Foreman said, not missing a beat. He stepped into the room and turned on the light, arching an eyebrow in the silently questioning way he was known for when he spotted Wilson on the bed.

“How did you know I was in here?” Wilson asked, more impressed that Foreman had been able to find him than annoyed at being caught red-handed acting completely unprofessional.

Foreman smirked and walked over to the bed, handing Wilson the file and MRI sheet in his hand. “One of the nurses saw you come in here.”

The oncologist at least had the decency to look ashamed. “Maybe I should disguise myself next time. Well, now it’s back to business. So what do you think the patient’s got?”

The diagnostician smiled at Wilson and shook his head. “Cancer.”

Wilson rolled his eyes and held the MRI sheet up to the light.

*****

House yawned and put his feet up on the conference table as his team collected their things and began to file out the door to run the tests he had ordered. He watched them leave the office and waited until they were out of sight, then pulled out his Nintendo DS and started up the platformer he currently had in it. He became so absorbed in trying to get his character safely through all of the game's obstacles that he didn’t notice Wilson enter until the oncologist pulled out a chair and sat down beside him.

The noise and motion in his peripheral vision made House glance up from his game. When he saw who was sitting next to him he went back to what he was doing. “So, you’ve finally fixed your problem and now you’ve come crawling back to me. Well I’m sorry to tell you this - but I don’t take sloppy seconds.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Wilson replied, watching House as he frantically mashed the buttons on his handheld console. “I haven’t fixed my problem though, because it doesn’t exist.”

At this House paused his game and threw his DS onto the glass table, causing a loud thwack to ring out around the two doctors. This whole denial thing was really starting to piss House off. He was supposed to be Wilson’s best friend and under normal circumstances this whole issue would have already been discussed ad-nauseum a few days ago. Yet for some reason Wilson was insisting that this was all in House’s head, which both of them knew was never true, and the fact that the oncologist thought for even one second that he could get his best friend to relent that easily was an outright insult.

“What is so important about this that you won’t just tell me,” House asked flatly, finally deciding that this game wasn’t fun anymore and it was time to cut the bullshit.

“Nothing, because it doesn’t exist!” Wilson shouted. “You’ve deluded yourself into believing that I have intentionally been distant with you when actually, it’s the exact opposite - I think I’ve spent more time with you in the last week than I have with anybody else in the last month!”

House nodded mockingly. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s true,” Wilson continued, “you just can’t stand the thought of something else consuming my mind more than you.”

“Oh yeah, that’s totally the reason I’ve been hounding you,” House drawled sarcastically, taking his long legs off the table, careful with his bad one, and sitting upright. “I’m marking my territory like a horny cocker spaniel and you’re a bitch in heat.”

Wilson pursed his lips together. “I probably wouldn’t have used that terminology, but yes, that’s what I was alluding to.”

“Alluding to yourself being a bitch is something that I think we can both wholeheartedly agree upon.”

The oncologist rolled his eyes. “You have a talent for concentrating on the most irrelevant pieces of information. I’ve always admired your ability to focus on trivial bullshit.”

House nodded sagely. “It’s what got me my job.”

There was a brief silence between them as they stared each other down before Wilson couldn’t take it anymore and snapped. “Just admit it already!”

“Admit what?” House asked interestedly, unconsciously leaning in to better hear Wilson’s response.

Wilson paused. Did he really want to say it and risk making himself look like a fool if he was wrong? It took a moment, but upon deliberation Wilson realised there was a high possibility that House would make him look _and_ feel a fool even if he was correct; either way he was going to lose so there wasn’t really any risk in letting it out. With that in mind, he spoke: “You’re in love with me!”

The diagnostician sat up straight and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Wow.”

Wilson gestured for House to continue. “Wow, what?”

House looked at him. “ _Wow_ , how self-absorbed does somebody have to be to come to the conclusion that a person must be in love with them just because they’re offended they’re not keeping their usual routine with said person.”

The oncologist lowered his hand slightly and frowned. “I just thou-” but House cut him off.

“I mean you’re completely correct, but so narcissistic.” House watched Wilson’s expression and waited for what he said to register.

Wilson began to respond before he really heard what House had said. “Well why else would you be so annoyed at me. Any logical person would come to the same con- wait, WHAT?” The oncologist’s jaw dropped. “Did- did you just-”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” House interjected, “It’s still just little ol’ me, and you’re still, well, you.”

“And you’re in love with me!” Wilson repeated incredulously.

House shrugged. “Honestly, I can’t believe you didn’t catch on sooner.”

Wilson paused, looked down at his hands which were resting on the cool glass of the conference table and started to twiddle his thumbs. He didn’t know what he had been expecting House to say but he definitely hadn’t anticipated this, despite how certain he had been about his revelation. “So, now what?” He asked sheepishly, keeping his eyes on his hands.

House shrugged again and stood up. “Want to go out for Chinese tonight?”

The oncologist kept his focus on his sudden, but intense interest on the ends of his upper limbs. “Yes.”

House nodded once. “Cool.” He turned around to walk into his office.

“Wait!”

House looked back at Wilson curiously, who had now turned around in his seat.

“If you’re in love with me, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

There was a pause as House pondered the question. After a moment of carefully collecting his thoughts on the subject he answered. “It never seemed relevant.”

Wilson stared at him blankly for a few seconds before an exasperated grin started to work its way over his features. The oncologist began laughing as House shot him a small smile and continued walking. “That’d be right.”

“Love is never relevant unless someone is dying, and even then its level of import is questionable at best,” House remarked as he approached the office door. “Oh and you’re paying by the way.”

The oncologist watched as House crossed over into his office and closed the door. “Of course I’m paying,” he said to himself, “But if only it was just in dollars.”

*****

That night Wilson laid in bed staring at the ceiling, contemplating what had happened earlier in the day.

It was always House’s M.O to be unpredictable, and sometimes that need drove him to do things like casually confess his love. The fashion in which he did it made it obvious it was just to keep Wilson on his toes, but nonetheless it was still a move that left House in a very vulnerable position and if there was one thing House hated, it was being vulnerable. He rarely, if ever let his guard down, so this must have been a serious claim.

The television could be heard faintly through the thin walls of the apartment. Wilson knew that House was still up, sitting on the couch and vegetating to some show that was no doubt fathoms below his level of intellect. He had the distinct urge to go and join him, because god knew he wasn’t going to sleep any time soon, but there were still so many questions left unanswered and he couldn’t face House with that sort of uncertainty hanging in the air. When they had been at the Chinese restaurant the subject of House’s confession hadn’t been brought up. Wilson had been too nervous to say anything and House evidently didn’t see it as important enough to discuss, therefore he treated it as though it had never happened and was not an extremely large elephant in the room. Needless to say, this didn’t help Wilson and while he left the restaurant full of food, he was starved for an explanation.

Wilson turned over, wishing he could get comfortable. House was a bastard, that much was true, but surely even he wouldn’t stoop to the level of romantically blackmailing his closest friend just for the novelty of it. Wilson was the one person who had stuck by him despite all of the continual bullshit he had been subjected to as a result, and even though House mocked and teased him for it Wilson knew it was appreciated. House never expressed it in the conventional sense but when they locked eyes after a particularly trying discussion, you could see it in his face. The misanthropic disregard House maintained could only hold for so long before his cracks started to show, and while he was very good at hiding it from most, Wilson was the one person that had known him long enough to be able to decipher what little emotion he did let slip. House knew this, and as much as he would be loathe to admit it, he needed Wilson; he needed that one person in his life who could see through him transparently, like he was a clear glass door, and set him straight. And for Wilson’s part, he had his own complex which compelled him to be that person. After all compassion _was_ his thing, be it for better or if experience had told him anything, for worse. They complimented each other in the most bizarre yet oddly poetic way two people could, and surely, _surely_ House wasn’t callous enough to jeopardise the dynamic they had going just for a laugh.

Wilson had to believe that. He had to believe that some part of House truly, deeply cared about him.

The television turned off and the apartment fell into an eerie silence. Wilson shifted in bed, hyper-aware of the duvet against his bare legs. He listened to the uneven patter of House’s limping gait as he walked to his room. It was comforting and anxiety-inducing all at the same time.

*****

As House stood in front of the elevator he contemplated just how monumentally he had screwed up the day before. Why did he say that - what in the nine circles of hell was wrong with him? As soon as the words had left his mouth he knew he’d made an erroneous lapse in judgement. Admitting to having emotional attachments caused nothing but trouble, especially to Wilson of all people because he always took that sort of thing to heart. No doubt the guy was wringing his brain at the moment trying to figure out how to respond, this touchy-feely stuff positively tied his cranium in knots. In the end the entire thing was pointless because despite how true or false the confession may have been, voicing it only served to do one thing and that was to make Wilson implode - and House hated having to deal with a flustered, confused Wilson.

At some point during House’s little reverie the elevator doors had opened and the diagnostician had to hold in a groan when he realised he would be sharing the lift with none other than his favourite oncologist. Wilson’s breath hitched in his throat when he saw House and he began awkwardly rocking back and forth on his heels - something he had never done before - as the diagnostician hobbled into the elevator and took his place next to him, ignoring the nervous movements.

“So, how’s the cancer thing going?” House asked nonchalantly as the elevator doors closed and it began its ascent.

Wilson paused his rocking and glanced at his friend. “Uh - yeah, it’s going okay.” It only occurred to him after he had spoken how stupid both House’s question and his own answer had been. ‘The cancer thing’, what did that even mean?

An awkward silence followed as the elevator made its way up, finally stopping at their floor. They moved simultaneously to exit the elevator, falling in step with each other through force of habit.

“You’re wearing that green tie again,” House noted, swinging his cane as he walked. “How many times do I have to tell you how ugly that thing is. Burn it, if not for yourself then at least do it for _my_ sanity.”

Wilson glanced at House and then redirected his gaze down the bustling corridor full of hospital staff. “I - um - yeah, right, I’ll make sure I do that.”

Wilson’s nerves already appeared to be getting the better of him, because at any other time he would have countered House’s banter with one of his own biting witticisms, yet today he couldn’t even bring himself to form a coherent sentence. House wondered if Wilson knew that he had noticed his fidgeting, the twitching of his hands, the darting of his eyes, the rapid blinking. It was so obvious that he was having some sort of meltdown and was desperately trying to cover it up, or more to the point, avoid the problem altogether. But this was Wilson, and as valiant as the attempt to steer himself away from psychological cataclysm was, he was much too invested in his feelings to compartmentalise them the way House did. Left to his own devices his behaviour would become increasingly erratic and strained, until eventually he would bow under the pressure of his own neurosis and go to House to air his grievances. It was a familiar cycle which left House biding his time until the inevitable occured. He just hoped it happened sooner rather than later so they could move past this and get back to some semblance of normalcy.

As they came up to their offices Wilson turned sharply, mumbling a low “See you later,” under his breath as he made a b-line for his door.

House chose not to reply and continued the few paces to his own office. A voice in his head told him how much of an idiot he was. He chose not to pay it any heed.

*****

Wilson took in a deep breath as the door clicked shut behind him. He didn’t remember the trip from his office down to the hospital morgue - he’d been too preoccupied in thought to register the bustle of hospital staff, patients and visitors, the occasional greeting from passing colleagues and the cacophonous beeping of the flatlining heart monitor as somebody who he had never met went into cardiac arrest while he walked by. All of it faded into the background until he found himself standing in this sterile metallic room, as far away from the world as he could currently get. He glanced around and briefly wondered when the mortician would return from lunch, but decided the brief respite was worth the risk.

Somewhere above him House was traipsing through the halls, going about his business as though nothing had changed from a week ago. Wilson wished he had that degree of apathy in his veins because right now he would have given anything to be numb.

Every time they crossed paths he felt his throat constrict but he didn’t know why. It was stupid, frustrating, to have this reaction. The fact that House was completely _unreactive_ just showed how different they were - House could cut himself off from his emotions, Wilson couldn’t help but give in to his. That should have been reason enough not to entertain the thought of them together but here he was, hiding away because he couldn’t help it.

“It’s House’s fault, he put the idea into my head,” Wilson muttered to himself. They’d always been friends, confidants, but they’d never broached the subject of it graduating into something more. Sure they had been teased - they’d been labeled as an old married couple for years, but that’s all it was, friendly banter from their peers. Still, it made so much sense, and simultaneously it made no sense at all. It was the ultimate oxymoron.

One thing was certain, no matter what House thought he would never act upon his feelings, but there was no guarantee WIlson could trust himself to abstain the same way. In fact it was highly unlikely, the entirety of his love life was proof that he had a bad track record with that sort of thing. If he wanted to preserve their friendship there was only one other thing Wilson could really do, and that was avoid House completely. He couldn’t do or say anything he would regret if he never granted himself the opportunity to act or speak.

Of course the kicker in all of this was that he still wasn’t completely sure of his own feelings. Could he love House? Did he love House? Wilson shook his head. The answer his conscience always gave him was _probably_ and that was scarier than a straight yes. Just once, he wished he could be certain about a relationship, because if he was then maybe he wouldn’t do what he had already done three times previous. Until that day came, avoidance was his only option.

A shiver ran its way up his spine and he realised how chill his hands were. He forgot how cold it was next to the refrigeration units. The white noise of the buzzing machines lulled him back to sensibility and he decided he should get back to work before Cuddy came down on him for slacking. Reluctantly, he turned around and left the stillness of the morgue to go back to the oncology ward.

*****

“So it’s cancer,” Chase stated, sliding his pen into the pocket of his lab coat. It had taken them almost an hour of going around in circles throwing out various diagnoses to get to this point, and he was just happy they were finally reaching a consensus. “We should get Wilson to do a biopsy.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Cameron interjected, earning curious looks from both Chase and Foreman. “Wilson’s been acting strange lately. Skipping clinic hours, hardly talking to anyone, keeping mostly to his office. I think it would be better to ask one of the other oncologists to do it this time.”

“What do you think’s gotten into him?” Foreman asked, closing the patient file on the table in front of him.

“Not sunshine and rainbows, that’s for sure,” House’s voice cut in, causing the other three doctors to snap to attention. They watched as House walked in and took a seat at the conference table.

“Is he okay?” Cameron asked, a concerned expression ebbing its way onto her features.

House rolled his eyes and thumped his cane on the floor. “Wilson’s well-being is his business. He’s still at work, still functioning. He’s fine.” Cameron opened her mouth to respond but House cut her off before she had the chance to speak. “Uh, uh, uh. If you need him as a consult I’ll go and talk to him. Now, don’t you three have jobs to be doing or something?”

The three doctors all looked at him wearily but didn’t argue. They collected their things and left to inform the patient of their new hypothesis, although Cameron looked especially unsatisfied with the response she had received; truthfully though, House couldn’t have cared less about her concerns. Some people needed to learn to stay out of other people's personal lives.

Though it did beg the question: was Wilson okay? House had hardly seen him since their encounter in the elevator. Even when they were home together Wilson had been barricading himself in his room, trying to avoid House at all costs. House had of course been playing the waiting game, sitting around anticipating the day Wilson would snap out of it, but it had been three weeks and there were no signs of him yielding any time soon. Maybe it was time to step in and end it once and for all - House hadn’t wanted to do that, but now that other people were beginning to come into the equation he couldn’t afford to let it go on any longer. If Cameron or Cuddy or anybody else found out what was really going through Wilson’s head neither of them would ever live it down.

Yes, he had to stop the proverbial shit before it hit the hypothetical fan.

*****

Wilson was tired, he hadn’t slept properly for four days unless you counted fifteen minute power naps at random intervals. As much as he would have liked a good night’s rest, his anxiety-addled brain hadn’t allowed it. Three weeks had passed of avoiding House and so far nothing had changed. He thought the other man might have attempted to make some kind of contact, despite Wilson's own efforts to the contrary, but House hadn’t even tried to speak to him. Wilson felt a pang of sadness wash over him as he sat at his desk. Maybe he was wrong, maybe House really didn’t give a crap about him at all, and this whole stint had been for nothing.

With a sigh Wilson stood and walked to his couch. On the way he let his lab coat fall off him onto the floor and ripped his tie from his neck.

If their relationship meant anything to House he would have come to Wilson by now, even if the oncologist was trying to avoid him. Obviously he just wasn’t interesting enough for the diagnostician anymore. He flopped down onto the couch and ran a hand through his hair, bitterly coming to the realisation that his earlier wishes were finally coming true. As much as he wanted to be surprised, he wasn’t, in fact he was struggling to feel anything at all besides absolute resignation.

For the first time, he was completely done.

*****

House sprang to action and within moments he found himself in front of Wilson’s door. This time it was mercifully unlocked so there was no need for a repeat of the whole fence incident that had occurred a few weeks prior. He didn’t bother knocking or calling out Wilson’s name before throwing open the door and limping up to his desk. It threw him for a loop to discover that Wilson wasn’t actually sitting there like he had expected. House paused a moment, temporarily taken off guard by Wilson’s unexpected absence from his office.

“If you’re looking for me, you’re facing the wrong way.”

House looked back over his shoulder. There was Wilson, carelessly sprawled over the couch looking bored as all hell. The tie that would have usually been hanging neatly around his neck was lying on the floor along with his lab coat, which sat next to it in a crumpled heap. His sleeves were rolled up and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing the upper part of his chest. As House turned around to face him properly it took all of his self-control not to comment on these things. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Wilson casually dishevelled before, there were many times he had shown up to his apartment shirt half open, fly undone, with hair sticking up at every angle. Heck, he’d seen the guy in nothing but a t-shirt and underwear, but this was the first time he’d witnessed Wilson like this at work. Appearance was one of the things he prided himself on most, and he would never be caught dead looking anything but pristine in the hospital. Except for now, evidently.

House leaned his cane against the desk and hoisted himself up to sit on top of it. All this standing and staring was starting to make his leg throb. He ran his eyes over Wilson’s limp form one more time before finally speaking. “You look like crap.”

“I feel like crap,” Wilson responded. “Is that what you came here for? To tell me things I already know?”

“That depends,” House answered, swinging his legs absently to keep the circulation going. “Do you know that I’ve been wondering where the hell you’ve been the last three weeks?”

Wilson rolled his head over to look at House. His fringe flopped down, slightly covering one of his large, sad brown eyes. “I’ve been here, working, just like you.”

House hummed and tapped his fingers on the desk. “Hard to believe that when hardly anyone has actually seen you. You’ve been MIA for so long you’re starting to become the stuff of legend - the mythical head of oncology. They’re debating on if you ever really existed.”

A chuckle escaped Wilson despite himself. “Nice try, but I’ve been doing my job - which is more than can be said for some people.” House gave him an exasperated eyeroll in return for that insinuation. “Really, I’m fine, I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy avoiding _me_ ,” House quipped, cutting to the chase. “You can’t hide from me forever, Jimmy. I know where you live.”

Wilson tensed at House’s remark and pulled himself up into a sitting position. His cheeks were visibly flushed, but House couldn’t tell if it was in anger or embarrassment. “What do you want from me, House? You come into my office demanding I tell you what I’ve been doing when you already know the answer. I don’t know what else to say.”

House took a deep breath and hung his head. As annoying as this was, he also felt a pang of regret wash over him for the turmoil he had inflicted upon his friend. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, noting that damage control sucked on every conceivable level. “I shouldn’t have said what I did, it was stupid.”

“Stupid?” Wilson pointed a finger at House angrily. “The only stupid thing about it is that you finally admitted your feelings about something and then outright refused to acknowledge it ever happened afterward. You made me question everything, re-evaluate the entire fifteen years we’ve known each other, and you wouldn’t even indulge me for five minutes and talk about it,” Wilson let out a single, humourless laugh. “Now _that’s_ stupid!”

“I shouldn’t have burdened you with my bullshit,” House said quickly, feeling more guilty by the second. Despite that, he somehow managed to maintain an unreadable expression. If only he was completely numb, he would never have said anything in the first place and life would have been so much easier. Emotions complicated things way too much.

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Wilson agreed. “You didn’t have any right to tell me that. You knew that it would change everything, that it would potentially ruin our friendship, but you couldn’t help yourself. I want to believe you meant it, so I can tell myself you’re not a complete ass, but I know you probably just did it for a cheap laugh at my expense.”

Goddamnit Wilson was making this hard. How could he think something like that? House thought he deserved to be given more credit - he was an asshole but he wasn’t satan. The diagnostician swallowed and looked Wilson directly in the eyes. “I meant it.”

This seemed to temporarily stop Wilson in his tracks, but it didn’t take long for him to come back to his senses. “Don’t toy with me.”

“I meant it,” House repeated flatly.

*****

Wilson stood and ran a hand through his hair. He’d been holed up in this room for the last three weeks meditating on House’s words and what they meant - to him, to their relationship, to House, and he had come to some conclusions. Firstly, whether or not anything came of this their friendship could never be the same. Now that they both knew what they did, it would be impossible to continue being buddy-buddy without something fundamentally changing between them, at least on Wilson’s side. Maybe House could suppress his feelings but Wilson hadn’t been graced with that ability. Secondly, House was an ass who would stop at nothing to shock people and mess with their heads; but Wilson already knew that, this just reinforced the sentiment. And lastly, there was a part of him that reciprocated House’s feelings for some insane reason that he couldn’t understand. Despite the fact he had been manipulated and ignored, it didn’t negate the truth of it. Somewhere in the deluge of confusion he had finally made sense of everything, but it had taken several days and many alcoholic beverages to come to terms with it. He knew it would most likely bring him nothing but strife but just like he had been the only one to stick by House, House had been the only one to stick by him (for the most part) and that mattered.

“It doesn’t matter though,” House added to his previous statement. “You know nothing could ever happen between us, it will only end in the both of us falling into insanity.” He knew that he was probably hammering in the nail deeper with each word that passed his lips, but considered it a necessary evil all the same.

“I’m pretty sure we’re already there,” Wilson countered. He began pacing the office, hands unconsciously moving their way to his hips. There was something so feminine in the way Wilson held himself, and strangely it was something that House had never deemed mock-worthy. Mostly because that was just Wilson - the overly-sensitive pansy with a heart of gold. Of course he would waltz around with his hands on his waist, scrunching up that cleanly-shaven baby face in concern. It was endearing, cute even. House found himself drawn to the movement of Wilson’s hips as his eyes followed him from one end of the office to the other. It caught him by surprise - something Wilson was doing a lot today - when he stopped walking and snapped his fingers to get House’s attention. “Were you staring at my ass?”

“No!” House quickly grabbed his cane for something to distract himself with. He idly began passing it back and forth between his hands, all the while keeping his eyes firmly locked on Wilson’s.

“Oh my god,” said Wilson, “what is even happening right now.”

“We’re talking in your office,” House offered, throwing his cane to his left hand and missing marginally so that it fell to the floor. “Damn.”

“I am very tempted to pick that thing up and beat you over the head with it,” Wilson remarked but didn’t make any move to actually follow through.

“Now, now, there’s no need for violence,” House replied, “we’re civilised adults, surely we can resolve this accordingly.”

“Oh, cram it House! Stop deflecting and actually confront the problem that _you_ created!” Wilson snapped. At this point he was practically shaking in agitation.

House pursed his lips and shrugged. “I have nothing more to say on the subject.”

“Oh for-” Wilson growled in frustration, cutting himself off mid-sentence to step forward, plant his hands on the desk either side of House and press their lips together. House stiffened and then slowly relaxed, but didn’t reciprocate the action. After a few seconds Wilson pulled back, keeping his position leaning against the desk over House.

House blinked. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

Wilson nodded. “Neither was I.”

Their faces were mere inches apart, and if anybody happened to walk in at this point it would have looked very incriminating indeed, but neither man could bring himself to move away.

House looked into WIlson’s eyes. “So… was that good for you?”

“It would have been better if you kissed me back,” Wilson answered bluntly.

“True,” House agreed, “but then surprising you like this wouldn’t have been half as fun.” Before Wilson had time to figure out what House was talking about, the diagnostician reached up and cupped Wilson’s face, pulling him back in for the second time. In his thoughts Wilson had imagined House’s kisses to be rough and abrupt like his personality, but he was surprised to find that the man was extremely gentle and conscientious in the way pressed himself into his partner. Maybe it was because kissing was one of the few things House could do while fully letting his guard down. Whatever the reason, it was nice, really nice.

After a few moments House pulled back, keeping his hands on either side of Wilson’s face. “Damnit Wilson, I hate what you do to me.”

“Given what just happened, I think you can call me ‘James’,” Wilson said with a smile. Reaching up he lifted House’s hands away so he could stand up straight again. As he did so he winced and gripped his hip. “That position was killing my back.”

House chuckled and stood up, nodding down to his cane. “Would you mind?”

It took Wilson a second to click. “Oh, of course.” He bent down and picked it up, handing it to House who gratefully took it in his hand. “So, what happens now?”

House shrugged. “Want to go out for Chinese?”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “Yeah, alright.”

“This time I’m paying,” House said, beginning to head for the door.

Wilson’s eyes widened and then narrowed in disbelief. “Wait, really?”

House paused and looked back over his shoulder. “Of course, I couldn’t possibly make my date pay for me. That’s just bad form.”

A blush crept its way onto Wilson’s cheeks and he unconsciously put his hand over his mouth to try and obscure it. “What happened to ‘nothing could ever happen between us’?”

The cane in House’s hand banged the floor as he came to an abrupt halt. He reluctantly turned around, automatically noticing Wilson’s flushed face and bashful stance. “It couldn’t in a sane world, but considering you just assaulted me with your lips I think we can safely assume anything is possible. Also, I’ve heard a rumour that you give really good head.”

“House!” Wilson shouted, almost going into cardiac arrest at his friend’s crassness.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” House said with a smirk, which quickly morphed into a more serious expression. “For once let’s not focus on the semantics of the situation. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of analysing this crap to the ends of the earth. Doing that has already given me an addiction and you three divorces.”

“What are you saying, House?” Wilson asked, taking a step forward.

“Let’s just have some fun,” House answered plainly.

Wilson smirked. “You know, usually I would think you’re playing coy with me, but just this once I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and agree with you. I think that’s a great idea.”

“Excellent,” House said, pivoting on his cane to face the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a patient suffering from cancer and I need a consult,”

“Well then I think you’re walking in the wrong direction,” Wilson remarked as he watched House exit the office.

“You’re not the only oncologist in this hospital, James,” House countered, continuing into the hall.

“No, but I am the only one who’s willing to put up with you,” Wilson quipped.

“Then hurry up,” said House, “I’m a very busy man.”

With a shake of his head Wilson bent down and picked up his tie, disregarding his lab coat, and walked out of the office. In the back of his mind he thought of the old adage: the more things change, the more they stay the same - and smiled to himself.


End file.
